Welcome to another edition of This Is Your Little Life. Your little life is taking on pernicious perceptual potential poetic personifications without a preamble. To amble to ramble and gamble enjoying risks with enormous ramifications. Waking up is a risk. Paying attention requires risk analysis and consequences.

A stranger arrives in town. He wanders around with optical tools.

When in doubt, update your life. Put on makeup. Change your appearance. Get a new identity theory. Reinvent a corner cooking operation billowing smoke from cracked charcoal chips harvested from old trees near a woman sawing ice with a rusty see-saw as children play. Numerous forlorn stressed out drivers in huge SUV's negotiate narrow provincial streets singing their Status. Beep-beep.

The Asian Children's Driving School is open for business. Son, his father said, Someday all this will be yours. Gee, dad you're the greatest. Let's go for a spin around the block, down life's little highway and out into the lush expansive rural countryside filled with amazing green rice paddies, our essential food source. Ok, son, Let's roll. Batteries not included.

The smiling boy walks into his future. He works for a collection agency called Consume and Waste and Recycle. He found a life instruction book and put it in his bag. His bodyguard is a girlie-boy. Not too shy to try with tolerance, gratitude, dignity and self respect.

Good things happen when you take risks. You risk expanding your perception. You risk losing everything in the expansion. Are you prepared to lose everything?

What is the most beautiful word you know?

Less talk and more drawing is essential. Circles, triangles, squares, lines, curves and dots. Connect the dots.

The asylum IS both a prison and protection.

New life as the wet season shimmers rice paddies to the horizon. Green promise, beauty, creativity, dance, music. How do you describe this sensation of green? Memories of Chinese rice planters inside swirling monsoon. The sound between the notes. How do you manifest this waking dream? Lightning dances from cloud to ground. Bolt. Flash.

You create art to explore your sense of self and find out how you feel you are, rather than who you think you should or ought to be.

Make the right choice for the wrong reason. Make the wrong choice for the right reason.

Your life is not a test. If it is an actual life your invisible friend will protect you.

Metta.

This woman loves her computer and social networking skills. She is very popular and has lots of friends.

In the medical and insurance business.

This woman doesn't use machines and machines don't use her. She is very wise and observant. Her experience is direct and immediate. She dreams about being a European international lawyer with enhanced software development skills. She knows that every heartbeat is a universe of possibilities.

This life is a test - it is only a test.If it had been an actual life, you would have received further instructions on where to go and what to do. - Jack Kornfield

Rasta, a doctor from Cuba in town for a convention on radiology was looking for action. He took a seat at a bar. One was 32 with three kids. Heavy blue eyeliner and reasonable English, the language of barbarians. He preferred Spanish. Short shirt, high heels. Dressed to make an impression. Flattery, hands and negotiation. Slow season hard symphonic sympathy.

I have three girls, 11, 8, 6, showing Rasta cell phone images. I need to send money home to my father. I live with another girl in a small room. It costs $50 a month. I work from 5-2. You like me? How much? Up to you. $40 for the night. You pay the owner $10 so I can leave. Rasta drank water, watching the girls, watching foreign men sitting across the street, watching a parade of cycles, high heels, and begging children in oversized dirty torn t-shirts, hearing them say Mr...Money for School, Money for School.

The scene reminded him of Havana.

She was persistent. She needed work. You like me? I go with you. All night. I stay with you. Rasta paid, she said goodbye to her friends chattering, clattering, teetering high heels on broken dream street stones downhill.

In Baghdad, Iraq they sent out dog killer squads. They liquidated 58,000 stray dogs in three months. Point and shoot.

This morning before 6:00 a.m. in a small sleep southern Cambodian river town the frustrated alpha simian male next door to a guesthouse finally had enough of his barking mongrel, one of many roaming yapping and screwing in the street.

His wife was sweeping (a national sport) around tables and chairs in an open covered room of computers where students visit in the afternoon to connect. The dog was a nuisance, like her kids and husband. The dog ran around yapping, causing her and her husband anxiety. Rising anger exploded when her Tarzan grabbed a big stick and started beating the dog.

It didn't take a humane society expert to know by the sound of the beating and canine screaming that the dog was doomed. This orchestra of rising screams, fear, panic, anguish, and whimpering rose, climaxed and dropped dead.

Neighbors ignored the reality. His wife swept. Life is short, nasty and brutal. The law of the jungle.

Neighbor dogs, sensing death, howled in their chorus as orange and black butterflies danced at dawn.